


Not His Friend

by Jackrabbit



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackrabbit/pseuds/Jackrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi guys! Jackrabbit here, just a brief author's note with the obligatory I-don't-own-this-but-I-wish-I-did comment and to say I hope you all enjoy it! (Cross-posted from my FF account)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Not His Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Jackrabbit here, just a brief author's note with the obligatory I-don't-own-this-but-I-wish-I-did comment and to say I hope you all enjoy it! (Cross-posted from my FF account)

She met that infernal man for the first time at a crime scene, of course. It was one of her first cases on-scene. She was wired, almost hyperactive with nervous energy. This was the third in a series of unusual, but not quite linked, murders. The DI had, of course, called him. Smart move. He'd had them linked in no time, solved and proven in a few days. She'd thought he was the most brilliant man God had ever put on the earth, not to mention one of the best looking.

She met him again a few cases later. A particularly messy murder, it was, involving a candlestick, a noose, and ungodly amounts of toothpaste. Again, he had it solved in no time flat. She'd been amazed. The conclusions he came to when most people were still compiling evidence! His confidence! He could be king of the world, she thought. He was already king of her world.

Their third meeting was at still another crime scene. This one bored him. Nothing at all of interest, he'd claimed. Nothing unusual at all, if only all of them would just LOOK! They had looked, though, and looked hard. She had, at least. His dismal assessment of their mental faculties put her out quite a bit.

But apparently he'd noticed her! He'd seen how hard she'd tried. He approached her a few days later, talked to her, asked her about herself. She stammered and blushed, which made him laugh. She'd never seen him so charming, never seen his eyes so alive, never seen him smile so brightly. He asked her about herself, how she lived. He needed a flatmate, he'd said, and he liked her. He had his eye on a little place in central London, he said, and they could split the rent, if she could put up with him.

So she'd gone to move in with him. She could use the extra money she'd save with a flatshare, of course. And it was with Him. What could go wrong?

Apparently, everything. In private, he was even more insulting and egotistical than he was at work. The constant macabre experiments, the insults to her intellect, the ridiculously affected ignorance to her come-ons… It was all too much. Between wanting to kill him and wanting to kill herself, she knew something was going to give, and give soon.

She moved out after 3 weeks. Found a new flat, cheap but acceptable, and ran for her life. She meant to never look back.

Apparently that was another thing he was better at than she was. They met again only days later. He brushed her off like he did everyone else. She wasn't worth it anymore. How could anyone be so callous? She had to talk to him, to confront him. What the hell did he think he was doing, manipulating her like that? She picked her words carefully, knowing how much he could read from them. She wiped her face of all emotion, careful not to let him inside her head.

All that preparation, and what did he say? He said she should be proud she lasted so long as she did, most of his experiments move out after just a week. Because that's all she ever was, an experiment. One in a long string, apparently. A study into the human mind and its limits. And as she stood there, stunned, he asked if she'd found a new man to engage in disgusting acts with.

She cracked. She screamed and shouted and ranted at him. Called him things she hadn't heard since her dad used to come home drunk and hit people and break things. Said things she'd only ever heard the worst in the holding cells shout. And by the time she was done, she was sobbing and hitting him. He just stood there and took it, not even moving, not even blinking. When she collapsed to the ground, he simply turned on his heel and swept off, that long coat billowing behind him.

She never again thought about him without hating his face and his mind and her memories of him.

She moved on with her life, of course, if for no other reason than to spite him. Moved from her cheap flat into a nice posh one, moved up in the Yard, found a lover in the forensic expert on her team. They were far from a perfect match. The only thing they had in common was their hate for that one man, who thought he could just swan in and take over their cases. And it was even worth his giving them hell about their affair just to know that they each had an ally.

Then one day he showed up at a crime scene with a "colleague." How the hell did someone like him have a colleague? He was the only one of his kind in the world. He had to be, or the world would have ended ages ago. They all knew it – him, her, her lover, the DI. And yet here was this small, perfectly ordinary man, the kind who looked like he should be at home watching crap telly with his girlfriend every night and having a cuppa every afternoon and not wanting to get out of bed for his generic job every morning, following around this freak like they were friends.

All she could think of was that this must be his newest "experiment." The poor sod. He had no clue that he'd probably be subjugated to all sorts of psychological torture in the next few days, and then tossed away like a broken toy. God, she hated that man.

And when the poor puppyish doctor came limping out of the house, looking for the man who had left like a whirlwind and who would most definitely not be coming back for him, she felt terrible. Not just for him – no, for herself and all the others that had been cast aside as well. None of them had known what they'd gotten themselves into. None of them had had any clue. But this one could be different. Maybe for once that brilliant man would be the one left behind.

She had to warn him.

So as he left, she plucked up her courage, faced her memories, turned to him and said:

"You're not his friend, you know…"


End file.
